


MCKB

by acrimonyofkings



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spy Organization, F/M, Politics, United States
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrimonyofkings/pseuds/acrimonyofkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secret Agent Sansa Stark has one assignment to complete before she graduates from the prestigious, all girl, government run, undercover femme fatale organization, the MCKB. She's asked to kill the director of her own agency: Petyr Baelish. The problem is, she may be killing the only man trying to save the United States from absolute destruction at the hands of the puppet President Tommen Baratheon, and his grandfather pulling the strings. Will Sansa be able to choose between right and wrong, or will she destroy the last hope for America to be great once again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Assignment

A redhead brandishing a gun fires three easy shots into a practice dummy twenty yards away. Head, heart, head was the way she learned to kill. It had only been three years of training, but she was obviously one of the most skilled contributions to her organization.

She places the gun on the waist-high surface in front of her and looks at the dummy, yellow stuffing fraying at the seams. It looks defeated, which was good enough for her. Instead of halting her activity, she moves to the next cubby over and starts again, reloading her weapon with a sharp click. Head, heart, head. ‘That’s the way they meet Jesus’, her brother used to say.

Again, the redhead had defeated the practice dummy. She took off her earmuffs and goggles and placed them unceremoniously on the counter. Taking down her ponytail, she ran her fingers through her copper hair and straightened out her navy t-shirt, smoothing her hands down her sides. White print presented itself over her left breast and on her back. ‘MCKB’.

“Sansa, would you mind seeing me in my office?” the loud speaker blared. Sansa knew the voice; it was that of her superior, Ros. The redhead found a camera and nodded to it. If the world were looking in, it’d seem that Sansa was too somber or too serious. She rarely smiled anymore, for she was a woman in her element. The organization was her life, everything else was just noise.

The MCKB had become her life at age fifteen. The Multilateral Conformance and Knowledge Bureau was her last shot at getting revenge for her father. When he was killed by a hitman three years prior, she spent the next few months obtaining information on his killer. They called him Varys, otherwise known as The Spider, who ran a separate information-gathering oriented organization that was not funded federally, while the MCKB was. After she had spared enough time researching, she ran away from home to join the all-girls organization, leaving her mother and two brothers behind. Her sister had run away with her boyfriend Gendry at a very young age, as did her oldest brother Robb with his wife. She believed they were living comfortably on a military base with twins, but she hadn’t seen him in three years. Jon was away, too, perusing his music career, on and off dating an indie artist simply known as Ygritte.

Sansa exited the brick room, making her way down the traditional style schoolhouse-esque corridor. Paintings, as if they had been done in the 1800s, lined the hallway that led directly to Ros’ office. Pictures of important people, she noted. The faces were all familiar by now, as if she knew all of them personally. There was, of course, President Tommen Baratheon. His plucky, golden hair-lined face stood out among the various older men that surrounded him. The frame surrounding was gold and ornate, almost like a king, almost as if to be revered. However, there was no strength in his eyes, only inexperience. ‘The youngest president ever voted in’.

Next to Tommen was his grandfather, protecting him, watching him, even in painting-form. Sansa noticed the mirror to reality because he was known to be over the president’s shoulder constantly. He was instantly granted full control over most militarily inclined and strategic facets of the US government when Tommen came into power. Agencies like the FBI, the CIA, the NSA were now under his control. Sansa actually couldn’t think of one government run organization he didn’t have his hands on, for he started the one she’s in right now back in the late 60’s. She didn’t question the power he had bestowed on him by the naïve president; with the man’s track record, she didn’t really care.

Finally, at the end of the hall after passing by about two dozen frames filled with the current First Lady, Vice President, ect., she came across the most elusive picture of them all. She paused at the painting for a look at the current Director of MCKB His face was considerably less aged than the Chief of Staff’s and the various Supreme Court Justices. His demeanor seemed confident and comfortable as he stared at Sansa through the picture with piercing gray-green eyes, his suit a smart silver color with a crisp white shirt. His tiepin reflected the nickname the girls at MCKB gave him: Mockingbird. He was elusive, all right. Never had anyone seen his face outside of HQ in New York City, at least not since Ros was in training. Maybe he trusted his contemporaries were doing a good job training the girls for psychological and physical warfare. Perhaps he didn’t want to intervene for fear he’d interrupt the ‘all girl vibe’ the different facilities always gave off. Or just possibly, he was a deadbeat boss who didn’t care about the rest of the organization besides the main headquarters. Sansa always believed the latter, because he never showed up to defend himself.

Sansa continued walking and reached Ros’ door, gently rapping on the frosted glass. Behind the blurry shield, she saw her boss give a casual ‘enter’ hand gesture, her eyes never leaving her desk. Sansa turned the handle and closed the door behind her, finding a seat on the couch adjacent from the desk. Ros was a very casual woman; her desk was for her own work only, not for addressing the girls who entered her domain. Her couch was rich velvet, green in color, and very different from the rest of the office. It was about the only ornate thing in there. Screens and small laptops were scattered about on the waist-level surfaces of bookshelves, different books opened up to every-which page. It was a mess, to say the least, but it was all just a transition into a more high-tech system. A very tumultuous transition.

Ros found her way to the coffee table in front of the couch and sat on it. Her pencil skirt became taught against her thighs, and her cleavage didn’t leave much to the imagination with her purple button-down blouse. Sansa didn’t say anything; she waited for direction like she was expected to do.

“Hi, Sansa,” Ros spoke smoothly and softly, Sansa smiled lightly. Ros was the first person she met when she came to this organization. She trained her, took her in when she was denied elsewhere. Sansa assumed Ros had some kind of motherly connection with her, which she appreciated inwardly. “Getting some target practice in before lunch?”

“Yeah. I figured you can only get better with practice,” she replied.

“You’re doing exponentially better since you arrived three years ago. It’s like you’re not even the same person.” Ros emphasized the last phrase and Sansa stiffened. “Is the nine millimeter becoming easier to handle? I know you’re more of a sniper girl.”

“Oh, yes. I’m ridiculously comfortable with it now, give me a suppressor and I’m the next James Bond,” Sansa jested, relaxing a bit. Ros laughed softly.“All of your progress has brought you to this point. Are you ready for graduation next month? Are you excited?”

“Ecstatic and ready, Ros. I couldn’t be happier. I can’t wait to see the world, you know? I love it here, but I feel like my place is in the field.”

“Good. I’m glad we had you specialize in our top Agent program, you seem to have flourished despite your young age. Even among the women in your field, you are, in my opinion, the most talented Agent we have.” Sansa’s cheeks burned hot. Some women chose to be in the information-retrieval field, which was strictly computerized communications; others were purely combat; but Sansa, ever since she arrived, trained in intelligence, combat, and covert operations, which required going undercover. In the MCKB’s Agent program, it allowed women to decide for themselves what they wanted to be when they graduated so they could go on to serve the government, freelance, whatever they wanted to do when they were finished training. Sansa was not only the youngest girl to attend the MCKB training program, but she would also be the first to graduate at the top of the agency's ladder. In other words: Sansa was deadly.

“Thank you,” was all Sansa could muster. She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Even after three years of constant training, she still couldn’t take a compliment. She felt something in Ros’ words, as if she was about to ask for something. Ros was apprehensive in her demeanor going forward, for she was shifting as well.

“That being said, you have your first assignment. It’s a bit of a doozy, but I’m sure you can pull it off.” Sansa didn’t like the sound of this. Before her brain could stop her lips, she blurted out her counter.

“Don’t I have to graduate before going out into the field?” Sansa said. She covered her mouth quickly with both hands, wide eyes darting downward. Ros’ composure didn’t break.

“This is a special task; I only ask this of agents of your caliber,” Ros came back, reaching out to touch her shoulder for a moment before folding her hands back into her lap. Sansa sat back in her seat. Special task? Ros took a breath before saying a little too coolly, “I need you to kill the director of the MCKB.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. She didn’t speak for fear that nothing would come out. Confusion overtook her senses. ‘Why?’ was definitely the first question that came to mind. She never voiced her apprehension.

“I know you may be a bit taken aback, but I can assure you that it is necessary. Petyr Baelish, commonly known as ‘Mockingbird’ has been witnessed aiding and abetting the leader of the most predominant revolutionary party we have in the country. Their leader is currently in the process of planning an attack on Washington D.C. Stannis Baratheon, the uncle of President Tommen Baratheon and former high ranking US Marine, is gaining a lot of traction from his twisted supporters, and he’s leading massive riots in various cities. Petyr isn’t directly behind all of them, but we have reason to believe that he’s feeding direct information from our archives to Stannis so that he can better prepare for an all out war on the American government. Have I lost you yet?”

Sansa shook her head after a second, still dazed by her task.

“Good. This is where you come in. We need to get him to stop, right?” Sansa nodded. “Right. So you have to kill him.”

“What if we just,” Ros held a firm gaze with Sansa as she spoke, “ask him to stop?”

Ros laughed for a moment, out loud, and then maintained her stare when Sansa didn’t laugh with her. “You’ve worked in this organization long enough to know that’s not how the world works.” She was right, Sansa supposed. With everything she had heard about him, she knew he was one of the deadliest men alive. How long has he been the director of the organization? If she remembered correctly from her MCKB history classes, it was since about 1998. That’s practically as long as she’s been alive. Tywin Lannister had given the thirty year old control of the organization after learning about his strategic military prowess in the Persian Gulf War, designing the combat methods, and distinguishing the true friends from foes. Some argued that Lannister had only given up some of his power in order to put up a front of a ‘slow retirement’. Others assumed that Baelish, the cunning mind he was, convinced Tywin to relinquish power. Whatever the reason, Sansa could hardly argue the redefining mark he put on the MCKB. Etiquette remained one of the core values of the organization, but Baelish felt that it hardly helped with getting the job done in the field. Sure, combat was involved pre-1998, but it wasn’t as drilled. Baelish insisted for a revamp of the agency because too many of his Agents were dying in the field due to his predecessor’s ceaseless endeavors on making the MCKB a strictly spy-oriented organization, because it had been since the 60’s: with sexy women and undercover work. Although some methods are still used today, they’re definitely not as important as saving someone else’s life or strictly self defense. Guns are heavily emphasized, as is most technology. The MCKB started calling him the Mockingbird because of how well he could coerce and communicate with his superiors and affiliates, as well as his borderline genius intellect. Sansa even heard about the stories Ros used to tell when he would come visit the different locations, roll up his Italian cotton sleeves and teach some of the self defense classes, getting his ass kicked in the process; however, that ended long before Sansa came to the MCKB. All in all, the agency has flourished with top notch agents in the past seventeen years. Sansa wondered how he could betray his own project so easily.

The redhead thought about her decision, turning over her options in her head like a coin delicately sliding between her fingers. The forefront of one side reared its head first, and she spoke with plenty of thought behind her answer.

“Where do I begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! Please, let me give credit to the 'hitman AU' creator, I wouldn't have been inspired to write without them. Alright, I really want to give you a story. There will probably be a romance subplot because why the hell would I write a story without one? But in reality, I actually like the plot line, and I've been spending the entirety of the last two days to come up with a story and an actual goal, so I guess we touched upon it in the beginning. I haven't written chapter two yet, forgive me, but I want to definitely see where this goes. As for the minor characters, sorry for tagging them...maybe we'll see them in later chapters :L OK. Next chapter is gonna be GOOD. It's the crux of what this fic is supposed to be about, and I really dig the dynamic. So please, if you have any questions, ask away because I think I have a pretty firm hold on this story. Oh, and Tommen isn't as young as he is in the books or story, he's like in his early twenties (I know it's illegal for a president to be younger than thirty five, bear with me here and pretend laws don't exist) (but don't really like don't think murder is legal or anything).... I just did it that way to amplify his inexperience with politics and how much he's gonna get played by Tywin throughout. And try to ignore how they all have weird names. OH and I'm gonna be writing Petyr as a kind of brilliant military strategist who's trying to fight for good and side with Stannis. AND VARYS. HE'S A JUST A HITMAN, IT'S NOT LIKE HE WAS BEHIND THE PLOT ON HER FATHER'S LIFE. Ok. Those were a lot of notes and I hope it cleared some stuff up. Oh and Arya is with Gendry somewhere, yes they are both young, but let's face it, there's less of an age difference between them versus my trash ship. Whatever. I'm gonna try to Incorporate them into the story at some point. ANYWAY THANKS FOR READING THE NOTES I HOPE THAT CLEARED SOME STUFF UP. 
> 
> P.S. I was actually gonna put Jon with Dany and have her be some foreign pop star but since they're going the whole R+L=J on the show, that's way too close of a relationship (however not by Cersei's view of things lol) . OK BYE <3


	2. Confrontation

Sansa walked out of her superior’s office running over the plan in her head. She’d leave the next morning before dawn on a train from her facility in Massachusetts down to the New York City headquarters. A jet would’ve been too conspicuous to take. She was given free rein on how to go under cover, so she decided to be a human resources representative. She would grab lunch and figure what else could be done in preparation.

About fifteen minutes later, she arrived at her private dorm in the north wing of the facility. It was similar to the rest of the campus; looking almost identical to Harvard. She found hers, the third from the right side of the building, hanging almost precariously off a cliff and looking over a lake with a balcony view of the sunset. Sometimes she’d sit on the chairs out in front of the thin marble barricade fencing overlooking the side and read. She unlocked the door to her room and let the spring breeze flow through her modern territory. Most of the color that came from her room was the blue sky that opened up from her large bay windows at the back of the dorm, and the few furniture items allowed to her by the agency from local flea markets. She turned to her retro playlist on her stereo before gliding to her closet. Bob Seger’s ‘Her Strut’ played behind her like a movie montage.

Her closet was anything but ordinary. On her left was a large, vanity-like, three mirrored enclave that looked like a seamstress’ three way floor mirror. By the flick of a switch on the outside wall, the mirrors shot up, revealing different disguises and wigs behind one, accessories and technology behind another, and various knives and guns behind the last all the way to the right. Flicking the switch on the outside wall and losing her shirt to the hamper to the right of the room, she rummaged through her best suits. Settling with a black ensemble with a short skirt and tall stilettos, she looked around for her best blonde bob wig with dramatic bangs. Feeling satisfied with her choices, she laid her outfit on her desk.

At last, she decides to pack lightly weapons-wise. A simple glock and suppressor combo would do the trick. Just in case he put up a fight, she packed a set of throwing knives to attach to her thigh holster for good measure.

Sansa reclined on her bed and thought about her assignment. She opened up the file she was given on him as she left Ros’ office to better prepare. She scanned his schedule, his job description, his personal life—as much as the agency knew, at least. He was trained militaristically, with a lot of combat and weapons. Plus, he was in his own territory. He could easily outmaneuver her with his own stashed weapons, which was a problem. The Mockingbird must have his fair share of attempts on his life, right? The leader of a government organization always does… Was she underestimating him? She knew he was extremely deadly, but wasn’t he getting on the older side? Surely his mid-forties weren’t kind to him. Hopeful thoughts were her only sedative to a very restless night of sleep ahead of her.

\-----------------------------

The redhead awoke with a jolt by her iPhone reminder set for 4:00. ‘It’s just another day, a walk in the park, no big deal…’ Sansa saw herself shaking as she applied the final touches of her makeup. ‘It’s just a practice run, nothing special, you’ve killed before, this’ll be no different. He’s a deceptive sonofabitch who deserves to be taken out.’ She slid on her stockings one by one and adjusted her wig in the mirror. With one final cock of her gun, she tucked it in the back of her skirt and tightened her thigh holster, walking out of her dorm with an official looking briefcase.

Standing on the edge of the campus, she hailed one of the black cars that patrolled the perimeter and directed them to the train station, just barely making her 5:00 Acela. After paying, she settled into the seat for the four hour ride. Sansa thought about the mission, once again. Should she have asked someone else about it? Ros never said it was top secret, Sansa only assumed it was, being such a large assignment. What if this was purely the wishes of Ros? Doubt filled her mind. It soon left after a great deal of self-consultation, and she dozed off, iPod in hand, within five minutes.

She awoke at Grand Central and grabbed her briefcase from the overhanging rack and hopped off the train, determined to keep her doubts at bay until the mission was complete. Walking upstairs, she found herself in the commotion, blending in with the busy New Yorkers. She checked the center clock: 9:15. Sansa anticipated catching him at his lunch hour, around 11:00, his most vulnerable time. She decided to get some food to calm herself down from pure nervousness of the task ahead. Outside about four blocks down was a diner, pleasantly located on a street corner. She sat in the corner booth to work on making her ID, ordering an omlette and coffee, determined to steady her frayed nerves. ‘You are a trained assassin of the US government, pull yourself together!’

Sansa smiled and paid for her food the second she received the check, leaving after putting the finishing touches on the card, attaching it to her suit jacket. It was about 10:00, the perfect amount of time to catch him before lunch for a “forced meeting with HR”. Again, she found herself hailing her means of transportation, giving the address to the driver. Within fifteen minutes, Sansa was standing outside of the dazzling MCKB headquarters, shaking in her heels. ‘No turning back,’ she mumbled as she walked towards the edifice of glass.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa made her way through the massive glass entrance and revolving doors to the administration desk in the center of the lobby. Forcing a smile, she walked to the counter, placing her briefcase diagonally on it.

“May I help you?” the lady asked.

“Yes, I’m looking for a Petyr Baelish? I have orders from HR to come and write a report on his management history, how well he’s treated his employees, yadda yadda.” Sansa pulled out a file with documents that Ros had supplied her with detailing her credentials and intent. The lady squinted at her ID, and Sansa obliged to her, making it more visible by leaning slightly over the desk so that it was in view. It wasn’t her best job at forgery, but it was good enough to fool the woman at the desk, she supposed. Looking over the papers for a few moments, the lady nodded as if agreeing with something.

“He’s about to go into lunch,” she said handing the papers back to Sansa. “Would you mind waiting in the waiting room on his floor?”

Sansa feigned hesitation, looking at her phone for the time. She made a hissing sound of disapproval before countering the woman. “I have a meeting across town at 11:30, I was hoping I could catch him before and just hash this all out real quick…” Sansa trailed off, looking discontented.

“I understand. Go ahead up, he’s on the top floor, fiftieth,” she said with a pang of empathy. As Sansa thanked her and started walking away, the lady called after her. “We appreciate what you do for the company!” Sansa threw a salute behind her shoulder as she flashed her ID to the security guards, letting her in.

“Thanks, boys,” she said low with a wink. She passed through the horizontal rotating security gate with an excessive shimmy of her hips.

Sansa found an elevator and entered, pressing the ‘fifty’ button before anyone could join her. As the doors closed, she looked around the elevator, astonished with the attention to detail. It was decorated with olive drapes along the sides of the walls with a large mockingbird carved into the glass mirror behind her. Noticing the camera in the corner, she made a mental note to take the stairs on her way down.

The doors opened before her to a small room with several chairs and beige carpeted floors. The entire building fit the olive ‘aesthetic’ of his, and Sansa hated admitting that she didn’t mind it. Windows lit the room. His secretary was not what she expected. There _he_ was, sitting in a stiff white shirt and adorning only the finest Polo scent the girl could bear, sat Olyvar. At least that’s what his gold plated name plate read. She walked up to the desk, expecting the same result as before.

“Hi, I’m—“

“Main desk already called up, just go in,” he said without looking up at her. And with _SASS_! Sansa hadn’t seen that much condensed sass since living with the master of it, her sister.

Sort of taken aback, Sansa simply stood up straighter, gave a non-reciprocated nod to the man, and headed toward the door to her left, knocking gently.

“Come in,” she heard from behind the wooden barrier. Calming herself, Sansa turned the handle agonizingly slow, silently dreading the time that was to come. Entering the room, she tried to get a feel for her surroundings before meeting his eyes. Scanning the room quickly for exit routes, she found none and felt the gun burn hot on her back. She silently locked the door before he noticed her entrance.

As if in slow motion, she met his eyes as he looked up from a newspaper. His eyes were calm and confident just like in his picture. He wore a crisp black on black suit, black shirt and all. The collar was unbuttoned and askew. Refraining from wearing a tie, Sansa noticed it hanging on a coat rack to her right. She stood there, locked eyes with him, anticipating an invitation to sit.

“Please,” he said gesturing to one of the two large leather seats in front of his desk, folding over his newspaper and tossing it into the wastebasket under his desk. Sansa smiled, moving a piece of hair behind her ear so she could look at the office better. It was the same color coordination as the elevator, except with more wooden structures. There was a cream couch in back of her to her right, as well as two large bookshelves at both sides of his desk, caddy-cornering three floor length windows behind where he sat. There was a gun rack next to the bathroom to her left, and a laptop on his desk.

Sitting down, Sansa smiled with her lips, hoping to coax him into a false sense of security. “My name is Alayne. You do know why I’m here, Mr. Baelish?”

The man cleared his throat, looking Sansa up and down. “Yes, HR sent you, right? And please, call me Petyr, no need for such formalities.”

Maintaining her smile, Sansa pulled her briefcase into her lap and opened it, handing him the same documentation as she did the lady at the front desk. She reached over the desk to hand it to him, bending unnecessarily low at the waist. Her button down was partially undone for that reason alone. Petyr’s eyes never left hers. Sansa didn’t know how or why, but she sensed a challenge.

As quickly as the feeling had come, it had gone with some polite conversation on his end. “They sure do start you young, don’t they?” he jested, looking her over again. She couldn’t place the emotion behind these once-overs.

“Oh, I’m the youngest in my field for sure. But they use me and love me because I’m the best at what I do,” Sansa said as an unbeknownst-to-him double entendre.

Petyr raised an eyebrow at the papers in front of him, scanning the papers like a machine. Sansa tensed. “So you’re here to do an evaluation?” He asked like he knew the answer. He smoothed the papers over the leather middle of his desk. “I think I can accommodate.”

Relief washed over the girl. “I just need a few moments of your time to run a brief interview, then I actually have to catch a meeting across town.” She ran with the lie. He nodded tersely, so Sansa pulled out her yellow pad and pen, clicking it. “Alright,” she scribbled at the top. “How do you feel, as an executive, you’ve done with your organization?”

Again, he raised an eyebrow, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his chair. He stared at his bookcase as he spoke. “Well, I take pride in how the agency has thrived since I’ve been in control. I feel as if I’ve truly connected with my agents. It’s been almost twenty years and I still remember the first day I set foot into this building.”

Sansa scribbled down any and all the information she could squeeze out of him while he was still breathing.

“I’ve managed to change the way we do things around here, putting self-defense as one of the core standards we have here so we can save lives, you know the agents and the people they help.”

Sansa nodded, taking any of it, all of it in.

“And most importantly, I’ve developed such a close kinship with the teachers; I don’t even have to meet their pupils to know how they think or what they’ll do next.”

Sansa’s head shot up from her work and her stomach dropped. If she had enough time to think about it, she would’ve thrown up. Instead of thinking, reflexes took precedence as she dodged the bullet fired from the gun Petyr had pulled out from under his desk in the milliseconds she let her guard down. Quickly dropping everything from her hands and lap, she rolled inhumanly fast to her right, pulling her own gun from her skirt, leaping behind the couch and just dodging the dangerously accurate aim. She fired three shots without looking from behind her temporary shield, but they just shattered the windows behind him.

Cautiously, she looked towards the desk from behind the couch and doesn’t see him.

“Do you honestly think I don’t know one of my own?” he said loud enough for her to hear. She heard rustling and clicks from behind the desk.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t guess,” she said back, firing another shot into the glass, making it shatter. He had nowhere to go now.

“Never hope. You have to know.” With that, he stood up without his jacket, with a strange looking backpack on in its place. It had…strings on the side…

“Don’t you dare!” Sansa yelled as the man smiled while falling backwards out the window, parachute opening up behind him. He glided down, landing safely on the pavement across the street. Sansa ran to the open window and shot the rest of her ammo at him, screaming, “What the fuck!” Running to the back of the room, she pulled a sniper rifle off the rack and lay down in front of the open window. He was walking, sure of himself. He had shed his parachute, bunching it up and putting it into a trashcan on the property of Central Park, which he was walking beside. All of her shots had missed. ‘Not this one.’ Sansa smiled as she got him in her sights. But something, a twitch of some sort, jolts her and she only slightly grazes his left arm. Checking to see if she got him, she looks through the scope once more. Petyr is no longer walking. He’s assessing his wound instead, facing the building from whence he came. Blood is staining his shirt as he holds his upper arm at the wound and reaches into his pocket, practically making direct eye contact with Sansa’s sights.

She has the perfect aim. But for whatever reason, she can’t bring herself to pull the trigger. The red ‘X’ is crossed between his eyes and all he does is smile, looking death in the face, and living up to his smart-ass reputation. He pulls out his keys from his pocket, pressing the button in the middle. Before she knows it, a driverless black Mercedes pulls up in front of him. He mouths the words ‘until next time’ before getting into the car and driving off.

And all she could do was watch him go in disbelief.


End file.
